


Beyond Sight: Captives of War

by InquisitiveCookie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Demons, F/M, Pantheon - Freeform, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sword and Sorcery and Eventual Smut, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisitiveCookie/pseuds/InquisitiveCookie
Summary: Mostly one-shots and potential reoccurring characters in a a high fantasy world I imagined with a pantheon of gods and lots of size kink.A bunch of several somethings I wrote a while back that I want to try and return to... Will I finish it? I need to write more short stories.TW added at beginning.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	1. Blinded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write more for these two, but I went through too quickly to try to get their story out.
> 
> Tw: burns, scarring, blindness, all poorly researched, loss of sibling, injury

Move out my light," Kelda yelled, thrusting a stumbling soldier away from the scant stream of sunlight that fell through the cracked wooden roof.

Kelda pushed her hands into the mess of blood, guts, and broken bones, forcing them to mend, while pulling the pain into her leaden limbs. Sweat poured and evaporated on her burning forehead as she wove sinew, flesh, and bone back together into a semblance of a functional body, never perfect, but better than a missing limb or a corpse.

An imperial soldier shouted, "Heads down, incoming fire."

An earth shattering rumble rattled the stone building. The same soldier leapt for an outcropping of rubble. Pebbles trickled down from a broken wall, onto a pile of corpses below. She covered her patient, protecting his head and open body. Bits of stone trickled down her shirt, while larger pieces of wood sent slivers into her unprotected flesh. She hoarded her accruing pain like a dragon with gold, keeping it tied to her body. 

As she lay over her barely breathing charge, she stared at the dead, unceremoniously thrown to the side. Tears prickled her dry eyes, but there was no time to grieve or pray for their souls, there were too many wounded. Too many faces missing, too many limbs torn off, and there were too many hours in this battle that ended up with more bodies coming in on every exhaled breath.

Heat blossomed from above, raining bits of torched stone and wood onto the unsuspecting civilians and soldiers below.

Kass, her brother, ran from one corner of the crumbling building, sliding down beside her, his tan face was pale in the dim lighting, his blue eyes looked black and bruised from fright and lack of sleep.

"If we don't get their forces diverted we're dead," his teeth were clenched tight to keep him from stuttering. She stared blankly at his blonde hair, it now matched her chestnut curls. 

She shook her head, trying to get his words to register through the red hue of her thoughts.

"We can't move them from here, this is the most defensible spot to protect them," she splashed their faces with warm blood as she pointed at the wounded. Her voice carried over the sound of cracking stone and metal. Bellowing soldiers shouted to one another over the sound of crying men, women, and the dying.

"No, we won’t move them, but you have to do it again, Kelda," Kass said cryptically, taking her outstretched hand, covered in blood, squeezing it tight in his cold grip. "We can help these people," he pleaded, "You can help them. I'll never ask again when this is all over—I promise."

"No," she cried, her hand clenching tighter on his until she felt her bones crack, "I said I'd never do it again. Besides, they said reinforcement is on the way. I shouldn’t have to do anything." She shuddered with each word, feeling the surging power in her body react to his words. Pain sat in her chest, swirling sickeningly in her veins, it cried for vengeance.

Kass leaned in close, gripping her shoulder with piercing fingers.

"By Kavoure’s Blood, Kelda, you have to," Kass cursed.

She bit back an acerbic reply, but as she attempted to respond another ear splintering explosion ruptured the earth and tore down one of the stabilizing walls of their defense. He squeezed her hand even tighter now, enough to bruise her, only adding to the well of ammunition in her chest.

"You have to, Kelda," he said finally.

One of the women huddled in the corner pointed behind Kelda, and let out a terrified scream. Fire was mirrored in Kass's pale eyes, she felt the heat of it on her back, with a loud gasp she turned to see the pile of disarmed, mangled corpses turn into kindling within the flammable confinement of their shelter.

"I - " she stuttered, looking down at the man below her, her gift was still flowing into the soldier. She pulled it out of him, even though she wanted to give all of her life to this one failing body.

Kelda unthinkingly brought blood stained fingers to her face, smearing it across her dirty forehead, through messy brown hair. Her head pounded, silver orbs dancing in her vision.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head, feeling shame burn in her chest, replacing the pain. Kass turned away from her, throwing her hands away in disappointment.

"I'll do what you can't then," he said, rushing off to grab an armored soldier, pointing to the growing flames, "We need to get everyone out of here!" The fire was spreading from the corpses to the wood support of the building. The soldier quickly reacted, pushing Kass away and shouting orders to civilian and soldiers alike. Kass followed.

As the two stood in the middle of the rubble, one gesturing wildly and one shouting orders, they were interrupted as a whistling purple star burst above the cracked ceiling. It flickered above them all for a moment, warning them with its beautiful pulsation, but it didn't give them enough time to react. It roared, searing unsuspecting eyes, bathing their vision in purple, burning those closest to its impact into a voracious purple conflagration.

Before her horrified eyes Kass tumbled to the ground, batting at the purple flames. His skin bubbled, blistered, charred in the space of a heartbeat. He did have enough time to scream, his mouth and eyes opening painfully wide as he screamed with all the strength in his lungs.

“Kass!” Kelda rushed to pull off a discarded cape from the corpse of a dead soldier, she threw it on her brother, trying to diffuse the flames.

Tears freely flowed down her cheeks, “Sweet Favriel, save him please, he’s all I have left," she pleaded, crying to the clear blue sky. She tried to bat at the flames, but as she tried to smother them they ate away at the cape, burning her fingers.

She still kept at it, despite the blisters forming on her fingertips, "I won't leave you, Kass. Please Favriel," she prayed. Time unnaturally slowed as Kass's body grew brighter, the sound of his screams dying away to be replaced by a dull roar, "Oh gods!"

Before she could turn, before she understood what was happening, his body exploded brighter than any fire had any right to. She was blasted off her feet, thrown a good seven feet away from his body. The flames brushed against her skin, causing no damage, but the brilliant burst of flames had turned blinding.

“Kass!” Kelda screamed again, blinking her eyes rapidly, her throat and fingers aching. Her face was numb. The sun had disappeared, the walls of their shelter gone, only blackness swam in violent swirls inside her vision.

“Oh gods, oh gods, Kass!” She reached out in a futile attempt to reach her brother, her blistered fingertips touched wood, stone, and dirt, but not Kass. He couldn’t have survived that final deadly burst. It had devoured the last remnants of her family.

A painful pounding filled her head, screams filtered through the air. Orders were being hollered over her. She sobbed, but no tears formed now, there was only a gnawing pain across her cheeks.

“They’re here,” an excited soldier said, voice dripping with ebullience, he sounded victorious. “The reinforcement has arrived!”

At his words another forceful blow shook the building, the sound of ripping and roaring filled her ears, and with a loud boom the ceiling fell. Kelda didn’t have enough time scream, not like Kass. She prayed her death was swifter. With that final thought, a heavy object bashed against her skull, putting her into an even deeper darkness than her blindness.

Illuin’s nightmare realm surrounded her, a hellish place where macabre visions of the dead danced tauntingly. Her mistakes were put on display for her family, their gruesome rotting faces watched with disappointment. If she’d done as Kass demanded first, using her gift to buy them some time, so many civilians and soldiers wouldn’t have died. If she’d known about her gift all those years ago her family would still be alive. She hadn’t, and now she'd paid the ultimate price. Hell welcomed her and then immediately spat her back out.

The cool rush of awareness slapped against her flaming cheeks.

Kelda gasped, struggling to sit up, heart rattling against her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Her face itched and she reached up to touch her eyes, trying to finger the tender flesh. She found that her fingers bandaged, covered in soft cloth, and they met with the same material wrapped around her face. She felt a fierce desire to feel beneath the bandage, and tried to claw uselessly through the wraps.

"Don't touch those," a deep, rumbling voice reproached her in a gentle whisper. Rough hands, removed her probing fingers. "Your eyes were damaged when we found you. Please don't try to take off the bandages. We're doing everything we can to repair them."

The words felt like ice on her blazing cheeks, they were brittle words to stop her from tearing away the bandages and touching the ruined sockets. Kelda trembled with fever, turning towards the direction of the voice, straining to speak but finding her throat wouldn't function. Her mouth moved, tongue swollen in its dark cavern, and she choked on the sudden urge to cry.

"Drink," the voice commanded gently, with the kindness of a healer. She turned her head away from the voice. Bitter bile rushed to her throat as she remembered the horrified face of Kass as he’d been burned alive.

She shook. "Oh gods, oh blessed Nahluin," she whispered, blood rushing to her head in a dizzying torrent. The goddess of death ignored her, offering no answer to her words.

Images were burned into her mind's eye. Blood. Torn limbs. Purple flames. There was ash in her mouth. She gulped for air.

"Breathe," an immensely large hand touched her shoulder, "it's alright, you're safe now." The man's voice did little to subdue the tide of terror that stole her breath and sanity.

“Kass, I’m so sorry,” Kelda held her head, shaking it back and forth, “Oh gods!” She let out a heart wrenching scream, the sound of a person whose grief could not be held in words, only the visceral animalistic cries that gurgled out of her throat could describe it.

Kelda felt strong hands grip her, urging her to lay back down into the too soft bedding. She didn't struggle against the weight and fell into the bed with a too loud thump.

The man stroked her hair, murmuring words of comfort that made no sense to her fragmented minds. Unshed tears burned in her sightless eyes, and she growled out in frustration, thrashing helplessly against the injustice of her condition.

The man didn't leave her side, his hand was held on her forehead, feeling for a fever. She turned into his touch, grateful for the small comfort that his presence provided. Even though most of his words didn't make sense to her shattered mind, she comprehended in a small part of her soul that he was trying to help her. He didn't tell her it was going to be alright, that would have been too painful, he simply said that she wasn't alone.

"I  _ am _ alone. I have no one. Kass is gone," she howled, chest heaving as she clung to the hand that touched her forehead, using it as a lifeline to reality. It was the only thing that felt real, the only thing that kept her from leaping into the maelstrom of anger and self-destruction that opened wide beneath her. Kass's faced flashed again in her mind. Purple flames licking. Mouth wide in a scream. Then ash. Ash in her mouth.

He paused for a moment. "You're not alone, we're here for you. I'm here for you," he said consolingly, stroking her hair, "Drink this restorative. It'll help you sleep without dreams; it'll help you to heal."

A metal cup was brought to her lips, her head being lifted like a child's, and she drank obediently, excitedly. Dreamless sleep sounded like a blessing, a boon that she didn't deserve, but one that she wouldn't slight. She gulped, draining the cup in under a minute. Her stomach was sore from the violent chugging.

She reached out into the darkness, feeling for the man who'd helped her, grabbing what she thought was his hand. His fingers curled around hers.

"Please, don't leave," she begged, gripping his hand tighter than warranted. Fear clung to her like shadows to a sunset.

She brought bringing his hands to her lips, pressing the words to his knuckles. "Please, don't leave me," she repeated.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," he said.

She heard the shifting of a chair, the loud creak of wood as he sat, and she felt a semblance of peace at the sound. She wouldn't be left alone. She let out a shaky sigh, turning her head back and forth to drive off the images that floated in her mind.

"Rest," he commanded, and she heeded him. The last thought in her mind was that she wished she could see the healer. She wanted to see another living being and not the image of Kass's charred face.

Logan watched the small female, waiting until he was certain she was fully asleep before resting her hand at her side. She'd been placed in her own room, they didn't want her screaming to disturb the other patients. Her case wasn't difficult or uncommon, though her screaming was unusual. Burns were becoming increasingly frequent with the new weapons being created by the Kallegh and the Other-Kin. The strangeness of it all was that she was Ilyarin.

__ __ _ Of all things, an Ilyarin, here, what are the odds of that,  _ he stared down at the pale, bandaged figure. Her people were so rarely seen in this area, the Ilyarin were a nomadic race that kept to themselves, and it had been a matter of contention that his people—the Rivenhurd—didn't get along with the flighty little nomads.

_ Goddess be praised that I've outgrown those backwards beliefs about Ilyarins. _ It was a long time since he'd been with the Rivenhurd. Being a descendent of the seed of Kavoure, he'd been sworn to glorify battle, like his brethren. Later in childhood he'd found his place at the side of the goddess, Favriel, drinking in her bounty. His blood had never filtered out her sweet nectar of peace and acceptance, in spite of the numerous beatings he'd endured as an overgrown child. 

_Father never did understand my "perverse" ways. Not that bashing things into a bloody pulp is natural either._ He'd decided long ago that he favored Favriel's ways. Now, he was no longer permitted to be a Warrior of Kavoure. He would never be accepted back for anything other than the blood in his veins, but he'd found his succor from another source, and it filled him wholly.

His chair groaned, threatening to buckle beneath his weight. It creaked ominously, signaling he needed to vacate the chair before it collapsed.

He stood up, but the tiny Ilyarin moaned, her head tossing at the sound, as though she were aware he was leaving. He stood over her, debating whether the chair would hold out, and decided that the new patient needed his comfort more. With a heavy sigh he gingerly sat down in the small chair, praying that it held him for just a little bit longer. 

"Logan, how's the new one doing," Hektor, the head of the infirmary, asked as he approached the Ilyarin's bedside.

"She's still struggling from coming off the battlefield. Keeps crying out for someone. Probably her husband." He shrugged.

"Or a family member," Hektor said, brow quirking in thoughtfulness. His tall, reed-thin frame fidgeted as he looked at the poor chair Logan sat on. "Could you try and not break another chair, Logan? We don't have a surplus of good seats for the other healers."

Logan snickered, "Then get some sturdier chairs, Hektor. It's not my fault they're unstable." He stood up, looking down at the chair that Hektor would have fit into comfortably. A creeping flush ran up his neck, turning his pale skin pink, there were times he found his Rivenhurd heritage embarrassing. 

Hektor huffed. "I'll try and see what I can do. But enough about that, did you give her the restorative I made," Hektor asked, staring at the woman with unblinking eyes, not even really registering the prone figure. 

Logan moved his chair to the side of the room, pushing it up against the stone wall, "Yes. Of course I did.” He tried not to roll his eyes, “It calmed her down. She fell asleep instantly. Now we just need to see how long it will last." Logan grimaced, his skin stretching to attempt and conform to the unnatural expression. 

His scars didn't allow for much facial movement, and when he did try it usually left most people staring in disgust. The burns on his face were extensive, the skin of his left eyelid had melded to his cheek, leaving only a small area that his eye could see through. The left side of his face was in a perpetual state of a melted frown. He would never be called handsome, nor had he ever since he was five, after the accident had occurred.

Hektor was accustomed to his unguarded expressions, here amongst the healers of Favriel his gruesome features weren’t unusual, nor were they disturbing to people who were used to seeing mangled half-faces. 

Hektor waved his hand dismissively, “I’m certain she’ll be out for at least a day. That’ll give you plenty of time to start the healing process.” Hektor turned on his booted heel. 

“I’ll let you get to it,” he said, leaving the room just as quickly as he’d entered. 

Logan breathed deeply, staring back at the precarious chair, his mind wary of the chair’s lifespan.  _ I don’t want to chance Hektor’s wrath again. That'll be the fifth chair I’ve destroyed in the past month. I can't  _ afford  _ it. If Hektor would get a damned proper chair I wouldn’t have this problem.  _ He winced. He decided against tempting the chair’s fate, and instead knelt beside the bed. He reached into the gold, viscous magic that swirled in his veins. The magic commonly known as Favriel’s Elixir. It poured from him visibly, like sunlit mist, and it provided the necessary nudge for the healing process to start. It helped where normal healing would fail. It purged ill humors and managed to help knit the most serious of damage. 

_ Hektor knows what’s best. I doubt her eyes would heal properly otherwise. Damned Kallegh, they just had to come up with a new weapon. As if we need new, better ways to kill each other.  _

He guided the magic to the Ilyarin’s eyes, the energy around it was red and vibrating.  _ These wounds wouldn’t have healed at all on their own, gods above what type of weapon could have caused this kind of damage?  _ His permanent frown deepened, he could vaguely feel the damage as if it were his own. His sight would be slightly diminished after this session, but a few days of rest would take care of the deficiency. He stopped for a moment, noticing a dark marr within her chest, like a living wound, a bundle of raw pain. 

_ What’s this?  _ He hesitated, his hands unknowingly moving to rest on her chest, pressing his fingertips into her collarbone. His magic briefly and barely touched the bundle, and his eyes shot open with surprise at the sharp bite that registered in return. It was mild, like a creature that was warning him away, and he hastily removed his hands from the woman’s chest. 

He curiosity was piqued, but he didn’t want to disturb the young woman any further, she had responded to his touch, jerking in her sleep. He didn’t want to hear her screaming again. It hurt both physically and hit him on a much deeper level that he couldn’t describe. It was extremely rare that they received any women in their sanctuary, they tended to be sent elsewhere to a place run exclusively by other women. There were, of course, other women who participated as healers, but they weren’t wounded like the Ilyarin that had needed immediate and urgent attention.

His knees were protesting the abuse of the hard stone floor so he lumbered to his feet. He awkwardly watched the woman. “Rest well,” he said, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

He waited, for what he didn’t know, but he urged himself out of the room. He had other duties to attend to, this one small female was just another charge within the overcrowded stone sanctuary.

Part of him wanted to stay beside the Ilyarin, but he knew if he shirked his duties they’d pile up insurmountably.  _ She may be under my care, but it would be just as easy for Madeline or Leo to take a break and check on her. Maybe I should tell them to go look in on her in another hour or so.  _ His feet were already taking him to the inner holdings. Thankfully the corridors were tall, allowing him plenty of space to walk, though he could easily lift a hand and touch the ceiling. 

His steps glided past the airy, open courtyard. A gurgling fountain sat peacefully in the sun in the center, dappled sunlight danced on the splashing water. He watched two people sit on the edge of the fountain, one with an arm in a sling, and the other a healer that was offering therapy for the mangled limb. 

He nodded his head at Jash, not wanting to disrupt the intense session that would soon commence. Patients tended to be reticent during the painful exercises, and he did not begrudge Jash’s job.  __

"You've a strong spirit," Logan said, staring down at the bandaged figure, she looked like a doll in the oversized bed. Her tan skin flourished against the pale pallet and seemed to be glowing with a new vitality.

Kelda chuckled bemusedly, her lips turned down in revulsion, "Not strong enough for this. Not after what happened." She grew very still.

"You wouldn't understand," she hissed. Her lips contorted even further into a grim frown of anguish.

"What makes you so certain?" He queried, reaching out to grasp her hand within his. It felt awkward, but with the tightening of her grip he knew she’d needed the contact. The touch of another compassionate and emotional being.

He continued with a dry mouth and pounding heart, "My kind aren't known for their propensity for peace. I know what war is like," he tried not to croak, his throat was as dry as the arid mountains he'd called home.

The tiny Ilyarin shook her head, brown hair curling around her face into tangled knots. The blush rose in her face, painting her cheeks a delicate rose. 

"You don't tell me who you are, don't tell me anything about you, and expect me to think you understand?" A look of earnest curiosity was stamped on her body through the curve of her lips, the tilt of her head, the touch of her fingers, "Please, tell me something about yourself."

"If I did, I'm certain it would frighten you right back into remission," he smiled, glad that she could not see his burned features and the strained smile that pulled at his skin. He didn't want the first thing she saw to be a reminder of the charred corpse of her dead sibling. She had gone into excruciating, vivid detail, and he didn't think his monstrous visage would calm her bereaving heart.

"I doubt that," she whispered, tugging his hand closer so she could grasp it with both of hers. He wanted to yank it away, uncomfortable with the delicate hands that held his with the utmost trust. He was used to comforting others. His hands weren't meant to receive that reciprocal comfort — to be touched in that way. He had his own burdens that caused him to wake up screaming in the night, things he tried to now repay with his gift of healing. A gift that he'd shunned most of his life.

He was startled from his reverie as Kelda’s hands reached up to touch his face, slender fingers touching the marred flesh of his cheek. He jerked away, pushing her hands from his face, growling at the unexpected intrusion. He didn’t want her to feel his scars, he didn’t want to see her kind features morph into ones of pity and disgust.

Her face crumpled, lips thinning as her fingers curled up and her shoulders sank into the bed, as if she were waiting to be struck.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,” she whispered, her chin tucked into her chest.

“No, no. I’m sorry. You surprised me is all,” he said too quickly, reaching to grab her hand again, not wanting her to return into her cocoon of shyness. He’d worked so hard to pull her out of the black pall that had surrounded her every waking moment.

She touched his mouth, his deformed frown, touching the puckered skin. She used her hands to take his head and bring it closer to her trembling lips. The bandage across her face hid him from her view, and he felt secure enough to allow her searching fingers to see his scarred face. Her hands moved across his forehead, feeling the area where his eyebrows should have been, the skin had been melded together partially over his eye, leaving it hard for him to see out of.

She leaned forward, closing the gap between them.

“Logan,” her breath tickled his lips, urging him nearer, and he lost the battle against their combined desires. They met in a flurry of heat, he struggled against the desire to lift her into his arms. 

He desperately wanted to feel her small body against his. With no sight, and only having touched his hands and face, she couldn’t realize how vastly different they were. If there was ever any chance of consummating his desires, no matter how doubtful that was, they would undoubtedly struggle with their considerable size difference.

_ Gods, she hasn't even seen me yet, how could anyone want someone like me?  _ He broke their wild encounter of passion, pushing her back into the bed.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he coughed. His mouth tingled where her lips had touched his.

Someone else was undoing her bandages, the unfamiliar scent of a stranger wafting around her. She trembled with excitement and trepidation. She sat upright, pulling the blankets closer so they covered her exposed legs. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed, the floor felt far from her bare toes.

_ Why isn't Lhogan here? Why isn't he doing this?  _ Her heart felt like it was being pinched in a vice, the pain of Logan's absence tightening inside her chest. She tried to rally her dying excitement, thinking of all the things Logan had described to her: the verdant trees and bubbling fountains, the sanctuary of Favriel where she'd spent the last three months blind. More than that she wanted to look upon the man who had sat by her side, he was the sun in her darkest hours. He managed to scatter the bleak clouds that tried to demolish the last bits of her soul.

_He's not here though,_ she chastised. He must have relegated the duty to someone else, and this person would be the first thing she saw.

“Stop, Hektor,” her heart nearly burst, Logan’s rumbling voice thrummed in her bones and belly, “Let me do this.”

Her breath was trapped in her throat, her fingers clenching and unclenching as Logan’s scent caressed her heightened sense of smell. She felt him, his large presence dominating the room. He moved to her side, touching her cheek.

“I’m here,” his voice trembled, and she understood in that instant why he had hesitated to be here for her. He was afraid of her finally seeing him, worried of her reaction. He’d didn’t need to describe his scars, she’d felt them, but she knew he was concerned that she'd shun him.

"Are you ready, Kelda?" His hand rested against the end of the frayed bandage, fingers tremulous against her head. His breath came in short little pants, and she worried that he might actually pass out.

"I'm ready," she said, fisting her hands into the blankets. With painstaking slowness he removed the cloth from her face, unraveling the inches that hid her from the sun that was now filtering through the thin material. She was growing dizzy with excitement, her body felt like she'd been running for miles, tensed to exhaustion.

Logan stopped, hesitating to remove the final piece of cloth that covered her eyes. She waited, sitting as still as possible, despite her impatient fingers longing to toss the last scrap away from her face. Logan breathed deeply, it came back out in a quiver, his breath trembled through her spirit.

Light pierced her blurry eyes, and she blinked tears back furiously. She looked around, waiting for her eyes to clear. She looked up, and up some more, finally resting her sore eyes on Logan. He was sitting, but the chair beneath him seemed barely able to hold him.

“Hello,” she said, staring into his brilliant green eyes, barely even acknowledging his partially covered left eye. She smiled, tears of joy rather than pain blurring her vision. Logan's huge body filling up her sight, and she couldn’t help but want to reach out to touch him. He almost imperceptibly winced, a small flinch that could have been missed if she hadn't been staring so intently. He was waiting for her reaction. She restrained her eager hands.

"I've waited so long to see you," she could barely hold still now, her hand held close to her chest and overjoyed heart, "I've dreamt of this moment ever since I met you."

He eyed her with unease. He didn’t betray a single emotion, whatever he saw reflected in her face didn’t seem to change the shield he held up.

“How are your eyes feeling,” he asked, ignoring her comments. He reached up to touch the healing skin around her eyes with detachment. She stared, watching him without blinking, daring him to not look at her and see the utter openness of her heart before his cold facade.

"I can see very clearly," Kelda said slowly, deliberately, catching his shying eyes, confronting him with her gaze. Her brown eyes locked with his green, and he seemed taken aback by what he saw there.

"I'm...I'm glad to hear that," he said, and the barest hint of a smile warmed through his cold defense.

She couldn’t be absolutely certain, but she felt the first stirrings of hope. Of a future. Of a chance at redemption and a chance for a gift from the gods. 


	2. Bloodshed Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New characters, same world, and looking into potential expansion. Most likely dropping these two to focus on my other leading lady.

tw: blood, gore, pain

Elara's feet moved to the rhythmic pounding of war, or rather, the appalling aftermath that she’d been shackled to. She glanced blankly down at blood that lay crusted beneath her nails, whether it belonged to her or her enemies made no difference.

Her padded armor lay miles away, left to spoil beneath the scorching sun of a two week old battlefield. This left her dressed only in a thin shirt, trousers, and blessedly well-fitting, sturdy boots. 

_ If I’d still been fully armored I know I wouldn’t have been able to make it this far,  _ Elara thought with solemnity, _ I don’t know how much further I  _ can  _ go.  _ The the newly added weight of the thick metal clamped tightly around her neck, wrists, and ankles drained what little reserves of energy she hoarded. 

That fateful day before her capture, when the tides of battle had changed with the fickleness of wildfire, Elara had hastily shucked the symbols of her people and the rank associated with a Manipulator of her calibre. Yet, in her final ill fated attempt at escaping the battlefield, she’d been captured, shackled as a prisoner of war.

She inhaled sharply at the sudden painful binding of the manacles that bit into her skin. Blood slipped down her wrists to mingle with her enemies'.

_ Godforsaken Emotium, _ the metal bands seemed to sparkle intelligently up at Elara,  _ I should have known Kallegheirs would stoop to such barbaric tactics. _

She grimaced at the fresh needling pain that pierced her flesh, keeping her magic at bay. It drank her blood into the grooves of the finely wrought bracelets. The luminescent, silver metal glowed with bright, elegant swirls of thin ruby that seemed to dance through its veins as it feasted on Elara. 

The pernicious, gluttonous metal delighted in slowly grinding into her bones, leaving more pale scars across her already battered body. Its desire lay in inflicting lasting reminders of its ability to consummately doElarate her, like the men who took interrogating prisoners as their art—their craft, like Emotium, lay in the insidious languor of torture. 

She shuddered, her stomach aching with emptiness and anxiety.

_ At least they didn't blindfold me like the others,  _ Elara looked at the line of prisoners, eyeing the thick, black folds that ensured their blindness. It made it certain that they wouldn't know what to do, or where to go, if they escaped. 

_But they don't expect me to escape alive, and that's their mistake. No matter what message they're trying to send, I'll know the way out of here,_ Elara thought with a growing conviction and a hint of a smile. The thought alone started a tiny cocoon of hope to settle within her chest. She cradled it against the deluge of horror that showered down on her every moment. 

Such as the moment when she’d realized that she'd been the only Manipulator caught by the Kallegh; though that wasn’t the surprise, Manipulators were rare. The cold horror of Emotium manacles, collar, and chains being placed on her was the true horror. When they’d been clamped onto her bruised limbs she’d immediately attempted to Manipulate her enemies. It had left her screaming and thrashing as the metal dug into her skin and drank her blood. It’d brought down the ire of the guards, and once they’d reached her they’d whipped her into silence. 

Emotium had the unsavory and unfortunate effect of opening Elara's hard wrought mental barriers like a battering ram, allowing her to be rioted with the pandemonium of pain and terror that thrived in each prisoner, as well as rushing her with the sadistic delight of the soldiers. 

Elara’s stomach still sickened at the ongoing, unexpected, onslaught of emotions. She skirted away from those recent, aching memories, allowing her feet to fly forward with little guidance. 

_ I will survive and I will escape,  _ she thought grimly, but despite her best efforts at rallying inward hope, her limbs shook and her heart quaked. Frustration warred with tears and rage, but she kept moving out of self-preservation and fear. 

Behind her, beyond her hearing, one of the prisoners whispered something incoherent.

“Silence, bloody heathen,” a soldier spat out. Unsurprisingly, she heard the familiar charge of a thin, magically electrified rod, and the yelp of the prisoner as they were prodded with it. The cry only served to rile the soldier into jabbing them again. 

Words had only cowed her fellow prisoner into silence for a few days, then the guards started to use more malicious methods to keep them silent. Now, any speech brought on the kiss of the lash, the magically electrified rod, or the sting of the sword. 

Some had not survived the guards new practice. What had started as fifty-five wounded, but strong prisoners, had now dwindled to nineteen emaciated captives.

She lifted her face to the sun, drinking in its rays, marking the angle of the light. Night approached, announced by the faint yellowing of the skies above. The guards would place a geas of paralysis when they stopped, leaving them frozen on the earth, unable to move. It kept them quiet and this effectively snuffed any chance at communication within their ranks. 

Her neck and wrists thrust forward awkwardly, her feet stumbling at the erratic movement. She glanced up to glare at the back of the giant man she humiliatingly scampered after. 

_I must have slighted the gods to receive this cruel a punishment,_ Elara thought with boiling annoyance. No god looked down with pity on her, in fact, due to some cosmic misfortune, out of the nineteen prisoners remaining, she was chained behind a behemoth of a man, and the single steps of the much larger prisoner turned her awkward shuffle into a stammering jog. 

She sighed heavily. 

_ It isn’t his fault I was born height challenged,  _ her conscience whispered, dousing her agitation, and without waiting another heartbeat Elara turned her derision onto its appropriate target.

_ Them,  _ her eyes immediately found and followed the Captain of the Kallegh prison guard. 

His pale face lay ashen and bloodied beneath a crude, hide helmet. He slowed down as he saw her, a broken grin leering down from beneath a grungy blonde moustache. He eyed her for a moment, licking his lips, then turned and spurred his warhorse away. 

Without their Captain, their magic, and the aboElarable blessing of Illuine, the convoy of warriors were a group of capricious brutes that would run at any sign of combat. The real warriors— _ dishonorable but competent adversaries,  _ she admitted begrudgingly—had gone ahead to prepare for their arrival. 

"Move it along," the captain shouted, spittle spraying the prisoners as he rode by on his warhorse, "Pick up your pace, you sons-of-whores!" 

Silence met his command, no groans of dissent, though several of his skittish soldiers turned to look back with wide eyes, across the terrain they'd traveled, looking for an oncoming enemy. 

“Move,” he shouted once more before galloping off. His face was hard with cruel delight as he procured a whip to promote obedience.

Elara ignored the crack of the whip, the screaming; the image of splitting skin coming unbidden to her mind. 

"Sweet Nalhuin's breath, I can't go faster," Elara mumbled on a single gasp, shoulders sunk forward as her body fought to maintain motion. 

Her eyes strayed, like the soldiers, to the trail behind them. Elara unerringly knew their route, and if she ever did escape, she would be able to find a way back home, back to Vellaria. 

With that cradled silent hope, Elara prayed her allies were close by. Perhaps her own infantry come to liberate them. Elara perked at the thought, but not before a frozen ball of dread settled into the pit of her empty stomach, sending tendrils of fear into her toes and fingers. 

It could just as likely be the red-eyed Sanguinats, demonic creatures that had spawned from the melee and bloodshed. The creatures sprouted up like weeds, all dappled red and black, rising from the sodden battlefield, devouring foe and friend indiscriElarately. 

Elara stared wide-eyed down at her boots, stopping for a brief second at the thought of those rows of sharpened teeth that had ravaged their lines. 

Again, Elara’s head violently jerked up, and she made a small, inaudible sound of protest as her neck yanked forward. 

_ Gods above, I have to stop thinking. I've got to keep on going or else the next time I stop my neck will snap,  _ she forced herself to move faster as the massive man in front of her progressed at their new grueling pace. 

If she dared start thinking of the future, she knew she’d end up screaming until the soldiers gleefully whipped her into submission.

_ And I won’t allow them that satisfaction,  _ Elara promised silently.

Elara picked up the new, uncomfortable trod, staring at the huge back in front of her and the thin, torn cloth that didn't conceal the inflamed sores on the man’s back. 

_ He must have Rivenhurd blood. Only they grow their people so huge. Really, it's the only way he could have survived after traveling this long with wounds so infected,  _ she eyed his dirty, reddish-blonde hair speculatively,  _ definitely Rivenhurd.  _ Elara nodded inwardly with satisfaction, but what pleasure she felt became banished with the stark understanding of what lay ahead.  _ It doesn’t matter how long he’s survived, he'll just end up dead in the dungeons, they all will.  _

Elara’s fate would not be so fortunate.

She dropped her gaze to the ground, watching the jangling chain that connected them. The earth drummed beneath their plodding footsteps. Soon, all other sounds faded, until she only heard the sonorous beat of her heart. 

Elara gladly drowned out the pitiful groans of wounded men. She didn't want to hear as another prisoner fell, crying out in pain, and their nerve-shattering screams. 

Yet now, with her heavy heartbeat muffling all other sounds, unwilling thoughts of the future managed to swim to the forefront. 

_ I need to escape,  _ Elara thought frantically. _ I can’t let them use me. I can’t let them control me. _

Images danced before her eyes in gruesome clarity. Strips of bloodied skin, broken limbs, tortured soul and body until she submitted to the will of the Kallegh and their nightmare god, Illuine. 

_ I can’t allow myself to become a pawn of the Shadowweaver,  _ she grimaced, bile rising in her throat.

Tears followed, welling up and slipping down her grime stained cheeks, all siblings to the ones that had fallen earlier. Panic gurgled in her chest, rising like molten earth, restricting her breath, trying to force its way into full-fledged hysteria. The awkward gait of Elara’s shackled legs and sore feet managed to drive off the rising anxiety and frightening visions, allowing for her mind to slip into an uncomfortable mental exhaustion. 

Until they reached Kallegh, Elara would block out the horrible stench, the suffering, and the humility of captivity.

"Halt," the captain called out, raising his white knuckled fist into the air. 

Her brain didn’t acknowledge the order, instinct cajoling her forward. Her stupid, sore legs kept moving until she bumped face-first into the Rivenhurd's back. His body tensed as she pushed, touching his inflamed wounds. 

_ I could heal most of those,  _ she thought blearily, her sight blurring as more useless tears trickled down onto her outspread hands. 

Dazed, sensing and seeing his pain, she backed up. The prisoner behind her attempted to pull back, yanking her body into new uncomfortable positions. The Rivenhurd’s large body was rigid with rage, and for a moment, she thought he’d attempt to turn and confront her. 

Her heart raced, sensing her life was dangling by a frayed string, held precariously within the grip of the goddess, Nahluin. Several moments passed in strained silence.

_ Don't-turn-don’t-look-don't-call-their-attention,  _ Elara pleaded _. _

The gods answered her small prayer. Instead of confronting her, the Rivenhurd donned the charade of meek prisoner, head downcast. A ruse, for no Rivenhurd could truly adopt docility, it went against Kavoure's will. 

Maddeningly, she felt a chuckle rising in her chest, but it was swiftly stifled by a sudden stillness. The air grew heavy and fell like an iron weight onto her shoulders, stealing away her breath and strength. She staggered, trying to stand straight, but found her legs were numb to her demands. 

"Arm yourselves and get the prisoners into formation," the captain ordered through clenched teeth. His horse trotted nervously as he wheeled it towards the path they'd traveled, hand held tightly over his sheathed sword. 

The sky turned from a dismal, faded yellow to an alarming, swarming mass of gray clouds that sat high above the ebon boughs of the trees. A low hissing erupted from the gently swaying branches as they writhed in the rising tempest. 

They were all dragged hurriedly across thick roots and dead leaves towards a black, thick-based tree, its trunk swollen with moisture. 

"W-what's going on?" A prisoner asked in a tremulous voice, they sounded no older than a boy, "What's happening?"

They were answered by the soft hitch of swords being drawn, the hum of charging magic, and a low murmur of unease. The guards pushed them into a ragged circle around the tree. The tinkling timbre of chains being wrapped together sent her heart into a frantic pulse against her ribs. They were crushed closer together, bodies brushing up against the rough bark. 

"What are you doing to us," the same young prisoner grew louder, their fears unabated by the silent guards, "What's going on?" The young man’s voice broke, growing panicked, his breath becoming hitched and labored. 

Elara couldn’t suffer the mounting distress coming from the young prisoner any longer, "We're being chained to a tree. The sky is darkening. Night is falling." She stated each word as a fact in a soft, controlled, unaffected voice, hoping to allay the prisoner's fear and the guard's impatience. She didn’t dare state that the same darkness was now starting to coalesce around them, forming into matter, shifting into shapes.

She felt each prisoner's emotion, their growing concern echoing through the Emotium, as well as an edge of panicked curiosity. The guards drew away as the wind grew in its furor, their swords drawn, all facing away from the prisoners. 

She gasped for breath, icy tears burning behind her eyes. 

She felt  _ them _ . 

Felt their stirring bloodlust.

Elara struggled, tongue heavy as she tried to get the name past her frozen lips, "Sanguinats.”

The word was whispered by the chained prisoners and through the guards.

"Steady yourselves, men,” the captain’s voice almost broke as he spoke. His eyes darted towards the Sanguinats and then back to his soldiers, “Remember what we do here today is with Illuine's will! He will grant us eternal pleasure within the Halls of Umbrall after this day." The blonde captain was shouting, but his voice was muted, as though he was far away. At his words lightning slithered across the slate gray sky, illuming the gruesome, long, bulbous red-black faces and serrated grins of the Sanguinats. 

The long-limbed, creatures drew closer in slow, predatory steps, thick tongues stretching outward to taste their prey’s odor on the gusts of wind. Elara twisted within the confines of the Emotium chains, trying to place her back against the bark. Her black hair flew into her face, covering her sight. Eyes wide, she glared at death instead of cowering from it.

“Get us out of here,” a prisoner shrieked, gathering the attention of the Sanguinats, their glowing ember eyes drawn to an easy target. 

“Let us defend ourselves,” another prisoner pleaded above the howling wind, “You can’t leave us chained here.”

They were ignored, the guards attention solely on the demonic creatures. The Kallegh captain waved his sword, letting out a bellowing battle cry, “For Illuine!” 

He rushed into the growing teams of Sanguinats, his drawn sword gleamed like a midnight beacon, cast with light from the storm above. 

“For Illuine,” the chant formed on each guard’s tongue like a potent restorative for the hesitant hearted warriors, “For Umbrall!”

A wave of chaos, only comparable to the single-mindedness of a tsunami, followed their cry. Sanguinats, soldiers, and lightning clashed with the roar of a thousand blacksmith's hammer against the anvil. The earth seemed to heave up leaf and loam in an attempt to thwart their skirmish. 

Terror raced through Elara’s tired muscles, spasming her taut legs fiercely enough that she couldn't keep herself upright. The atmosphere vibrated with electricity, crackling in the air like the wings of a dragon, bringing its own version of chaos to the skies above. 

A prisoner hollered incoherent obscenities. The piercing sound of metal hitting metal rang out like a bell. It resonated in the soul of every prisoner and pulsated through the length of the chains. 

A shout of shock and success erupted from somewhere around the tree, but her eyes were fixated on the oncoming Sanguinats. 

“Hurry! Get us out of here,” one of her comrades cried, struggling like the others to escape at the beckoning of the breaking chains.

~*~  
  


Vek, High Axis of Rivenhealm, despised the perpetual darkness, loathed the utter lack of control as he floundered forward with no guidance. His keen hearing kept him sane. There were at least sixty soldiers guarding them, and they were heavily outnumbered by the Sanguiants.

Shock ran through him at the sweet feminine voice that whispered the name of his enemy, the dreaded Sanguinats that had ambushed him, wounding him, and weakening him enough that when the Kallegh had come for prisoners he'd been a vulnerable target. 

_ She can see what’s happening,  _ he wanted to ask how many Sanguinats surrounded them, if there was any chance of escape, what did she see that his blindfolded eyes couldn’t?

He tried to focus on the enemy, but Vek's concentration was constantly diverted by the tiny prisoner that kept tugging on the length of metal locked around his waist. he needed to place his undivided attention on the Sanguinats and soldiers. 

He felt the chains around his arms trembling, vibrating with the force from a metallic blow against the length of the line of prisoners.

_ Who would do— _ his thoughts were cut abruptly as hands brushed against the chains around his wrists, deft fingertips unlocked the heavy burden from his body, letting them fall with a loud thud. 

Vek shoved the blindfold off his face, eager for sight, but his eyes were met with a preternatural darkness that swallowed the sun. Occasional bursts of lightning shattered through the shadows, outlining his enemies. 

"Th-," Vek started, but the words dried up, dying on his tongue before they could escape. He stared down at a tall, bedraggled youth. He wore armor.

"Don't thank me," the Kallegheran spat out, "Just go!" The frazzled young man knelt down to unlock the rest of the chains. "Get out while you can. Before they notice." 

His bloodshot eyes glanced back and forth between the enemies and the imprisoned. The shades of night marred his features, or perhaps guilt lent him his haggard look.

Vek stopped to watch the other prisoners, many had already started running off into the wilderness, not a care for their compatriots slowing them down, but Vek's honor demanded he supply some sort of help to his fellow prisoners of war. 

To do that he needed a weapon. "Give me your knife," Vek held out a hand to the young man who was busy working on the shackles at his ankles. The Kallegheran watched Vek warily.

"Give it or I take it," Vek growled, he had no pity for the Kallegheran, whether a traitor or a spy, he didn't care. 

The Kallegheran unstrapped a knife from somewhere on his person, handing over the honed blade with reluctance. 

This time he did thank the lad, but only with a silent and brief nod of the head. 

The Sanguinats let out a high pitched screech of frenzied glee. The two-legged creatures broke through the Kallegheran lines and their intent lay on reaching the chained prisoners, but somehow the guards managed to push the Sanguinats back through the breach in their ragged lines. 

With the final weight released from his waist, Vek shook his legs, stretching them apart into a stiff battle stance. Vek's limbs strained and ached to accommodate the movements after weeks of painful confinement. 

He flexed his hands, his blood flowing without constraints to his extremities, the will of Kavoure singing in his sinew and bone. He breathed in deeply, scenting fear and death on the wind, and he felt his god's presence in the thrum of the melee. Even though his hands were just as good for fighting, he felt eased with the thick dagger at the ready. He took a deep breath of the battle, it filled his senses and danced across his skin, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. 

The Sanguinats watched him warily, thin fingers weaving in the air as if to rend the flesh from his bones.

“Please, get them off, quickly,” a soft feminine voice whispered, the voice made his heart race. It was the same voice that had spoken earlier.

“Damnation,” he heard the Kallegheran curse. Vek turned sharply, looking down at the tiny prisoner that had often stumbled in his wake. A female, most likely the same one who’d warned them of the Sanguinats, struggled with the pair of untarnished metal chains that trapped her.

“I can’t get them off,” the Kallegheran struggled with the key, jiggling it to no effect. 


End file.
